


Until You Come Back Home

by yourenotfree



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Awkward situations, Family Dynamics, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post Season 5, Post-Break Up, bc fuck that break-up, brief mentions of sexual activity, bringing mandy home, i did a fix-it of season 7 so i figured i should do 5 now, ignoring everything after the season 5 finale, kids raising kids, mickey never goes to jail, nothing too in depth, some mild gallavich parenting, what the HELL was that?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-17 16:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13662957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourenotfree/pseuds/yourenotfree
Summary: An urgent phone call from Mandy sends both Ian and Mickey racing for Indiana.





	1. White Knights

**Author's Note:**

> This was a strangely prominent idea that just sort of struck me one night when I was falling asleep, and I couldn't get it out of my head until I'd gotten it down on paper. 
> 
> I've always hated Mandy's exit in season 5, and I've always been adamant that Ian and Mickey would've been much more affected by her absence than they let on. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

Mickey’s wide awake in his bed when his phone starts ringing. For half a second, he allows hope to rise and expand in his chest. He flips onto his side, propping himself up by the elbow, and reaches a desperate hand out towards the bedside table.

 

A name flashes on the screen. The wrong name. Mickey’s heart drops down to his toes.

 

He slides his thumb across the screen, and presses the phone to his ear. “Mandy?” he asks tiredly, trying valiantly not to sound too disappointed.

 

He hasn’t heard from his little sister in months. The fact that she’s calling now, Mickey knows immediately, is a bad sign.

 

For a long moment, he is met with only silence. Mickey’s patience runs out quickly. “What is it?” he demands. “What’s wrong?”

 

There’s breathing on the other line, shaky and scared. “I need help, Mick. I’m in trouble.”

 

It’s beginning to feel like something’s stopping up his throat. He coughs roughly, and it makes his eyes sting. “Where are you? Tell me what’s going on.”

 

Another silence stretches on before Mandy finally says, “I’m pregnant.”

 

-

 

Ian’s the only one home when someone begins pounding furiously at the front door.

 

He studies the small pile of pills cradled in the palm of his hand for a few seconds, and wonders fleetingly how long he could get away with flushing them down the toilet. He wonders how many days it would take Fiona to notice, or if she ever would. He decides against it quickly, lays them one by one along his tongue, and swallows them down.

 

The pounding continues, growing in volume and frequency by the second. Ian feels a flare of annoyance rise in his chest. He drains the remainder of his beer, switches off the kitchen lights, and stalks towards the front door.

 

He throws it open, gearing himself up to tell whoever it is to just _fuck off_ , but the dark silhouette of a man leaning against the doorframe stops him cold. “Oh,” is all he can think to say.

 

Mickey looks stricken. His eyes are wild and searching. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in weeks. Something in Ian cracks. He wants to reach out, but his hands are frozen and numb at his sides.

 

“Is something,” Ian begins, feeling positively ridiculous. He stops, and tries to take a breath, but his lungs are burning. He tries again. “What are you doing here?”

 

Mickey’s mouth opens and shuts. Ian watches him fumble with his mask, watches him set his mouth in a firm, hard line. His eyes—blue and clear like a winter sky—snap to Ian, and hold on. “Not for you,” he says coldly, but it’s forced and it’s lacking heat, and they both know it.

 

Ian knows he deserves this. There’s a part of him that even welcomes it. He stares at his feet because he can’t bear to look at Mickey.

 

“Why then?”  

 

“My sister.”

 

Ian’s head snaps up. “Mandy?”

 

For the first time, Ian registers the real panic behind Mickey’s eyes.

 

“She needs help, Ian.”

 

-

 

It doesn’t take much convincing to get Ian in the car, but then again, Mickey suspects there’s very little that Ian _wouldn’t_ do for Mandy.

 

Mickey gets behind the wheel. Ian takes the passenger seat. They don’t speak at all for the first few miles, and after a while, Ian’s breathing evens out. His eyes fall shut, and his forehead comes to rest against the window.

 

Mickey takes advantage of Ian’s unconsciousness, and studies him from the corner of his eye. It’s been nearly two months since they were last this close, and Mickey’s entire body is vibrating with the need to _touch_. He clenches his fingers around the steering wheel to keep them in place, and tries to satisfy the gnawing ache by stealing short, clandestine looks.

 

Ian’s thinner. He’s always been thin, but Mickey can’t help but notice the new sharpness to his cheekbones, and the way his eyes seem to be sinking into his skull. His hair’s longer, too, curling gently around his ears and messy across his forehead. It’s a darker red, the color of dried blood. All hints of gold are gone. Mickey can make out faint tracks of blue vein spiraling beneath sheets of snow white skin.

 

He’s still Ian, but he’s different.

 

He remembers thinking that for the first time that day outside the Gallagher house. He remembers running, feet pounding into pavement, harder than he’s ever run before. He remembers going numb, down to his bones. He remembers looking at Ian, and hardly recognizing him.

 

He remembers _the hell does that even mean?_

_(What do you_ mean, _what does it mean? It means_ everything _.)_

Ian sighs in his sleep. Mickey stares down the road ahead, and coughs against the growing lump clogging up his throat. He doesn’t want to think about Ian anymore.

 

-

 

They stop for gas a few miles outside of Chicago. Mickey still won’t look at him for longer than three seconds, and only when he thinks Ian isn’t paying attention.

 

Ian can’t _stop_ paying attention. He can’t stop paying attention to the swell of Mickey’s biceps as he pumps gas into the car, or the fine trickle of hairs disappearing beneath the collar of his winter coat. He can’t stop watching Mickey’s chest rise and fall, can’t stop inhaling long breaths of cigarette smoke and _Mick_ like he’s desperately hoarding them away for later.

 

Mickey tosses Ian a Snicker’s when he climbs back into the driver’s seat and starts the car. Ian stares at the candy bar in his lap for a long minute, trying very hard to suppress a smile. He sneaks a look out the corner of his eye. Mickey is staring straight ahead, his expression betraying nothing.

 

He has to remember, right? _I like ‘em sweet_ , he’d once said, shit-eating grin plastered all over his face.

 

Ian turns away. He brushes a finger lightly across the wrapper. “Thanks,” he says softly.

 

Mickey pretends not to hear him.

 

-

 

Mickey starts getting irritable about two hours in. Beside him, Ian’s quietly munching on the Snicker’s, both eyes trained out the passenger side window. He hasn’t made a sound since the rushed _thanks_ , and it’s driving Mickey up the wall.

 

He can’t seriously be this _fine_ , can he?

 

Mickey feels like he’s crawling out of his own skin. His fingers clench around the wheel, tighter and tighter, until it hurts.

 

The pain he understands. It’s the emptiness he can’t control.  

 

-

 

Ian counts the minutes in his head for something to do. For something to fill the long stretches of silence and the long stretches of road.

 

He can feel Mickey, tense and brewing like a winter storm, beside him. He can feel Mickey’s anger like something tangible between them, and it cuts like glass against Ian’s inflated guilt. It cuts, and it cuts, and it cuts.

 

He wants to reach across the divide (a divide they both know spans a much greater distance than the five inches currently separating them). He wants to close the distance.

 

 _I did it for you_ , he wants to tell Mickey. _Because_ _I can’t make you happy._

The words remain locked up in his throat. Ian stares hard at the battered black pavement. He’s not sure if he’s more afraid that Mickey won’t believe him, or that he will.

 

-

 

Mickey’s not sure what possesses him when he asks, “You take your meds today?”

 

Ian goes rigid beside him. He half-turns, meets Mickey’s eyes lightly with his own. There’s a mix of emotions there, caught somewhere between anger and surprise. They battle it out in his expression, finally settling on something like confusion.

 

“What?”

 

Mickey hates that Ian’s making him repeat himself. He scowls deeply. “Your fucking pills, man. You take ‘em or not?”

 

Ian’s eyes narrow. His jaw sets. “Yes,” he says firmly, obviously annoyed at the question. He turns away, and says nothing more.

 

Mickey exhales a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. He feels a small weight lift from his chest. “Okay.”

 

-

 

“How’d she sound on the phone?”

 

Mickey whips his head to the side to find Ian, one eyebrow caught high on his forehead. “What?”

 

Ian makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Your sister. How did she sound?”

 

There’s an uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, growing more and more prominent as they speed closer to the address in Indianapolis.

 

Mickey turns quickly back to the road. Ian thinks he detects a hint of pink spreading across his cheeks.

 

“Scared,” Mickey says quietly. “Sounded like she needs us. It’s good that we left right away.”

 

“Yeah,” Ian agrees. “Good.”

 

He almost reaches out, almost tangles his fingers with Mickey’s, but something stops him. There’s a wall of ice between them, and nothing short of a miracle is going to melt it.

 

It’s a cold, heartless reminder of the old days, of slipping in their own sweat in a freezer, and _wanting_ so much Ian thought his heart might explode with it. It’s a reminder of every time Ian reached out, only for Mickey to pull sharply away.

 

-

 

It’s almost noon when Mickey eases the car into a crumbling driveway, and kills the engine. For a long moment he’s frozen, one hand gripping the ignition and the other wrapped around the door handle. He’s not sure he can get out of this car. He’s not sure what they are going to find inside this mess of a house.

 

He feels pressure on his shoulder. He doesn’t need to look to know that it’s Ian’s hand, light as a feather on top of his coat. He surprises himself when he doesn’t immediately shake the contact off.

 

“I know,” Ian whispers, and Mickey realizes that he probably does.

 

Mickey sags in his seat. He carefully doesn’t look at Ian as he admits, “I don’t think I can, Ian.”

 

For a split second, the fingers tighten against Mickey’s shoulder, and then they’re gone altogether.

 

“That’s okay,” he says in a low, calm voice. “Because I do.”

 

-

 

Ian leads the way into the house without having to be asked. He knocks twice at the front door, then slowly inches it open. He can feel Mickey one step behind him, can feel his warm breath against the base of his neck.

 

The house is doused in darkness, and cold as ice.

 

“Mandy?” Ian calls softly, around the lump growing larger in his throat. Tears sting in the corners of his eyes. “Mands? You here?”

 

Something moves in the darkness. Ian thinks he can make out a shape, the outline of a girl. He smiles more out of relief than anything else. An exhale tears its way out of his throat. His arms open wide without his permission.

 

“It’s okay,” he says, a little breathlessly. “It’s all okay now, Mandy.”

 

The figure takes a few steps forward. Ian can see stringy pieces of black hair now, framing a pale, gaunt face. Blue eyes glitter back at him.

 

His name is an exhale on her lips. “Ian.”

 

Behind him, Mickey latches onto the hem of Ian’s coat for stability, and remains silent.

 

“It’s us,” Ian tells her, as soothing as he can manage. “It’s Ian and Mick.”

 

She falls into his arms, limp like a rag doll, and so bony that Ian fears he may break her if he squeezes too hard. She wraps her thin body around him like a missing puzzle piece. Ian thinks the sound of her pounding heartbeat is the loveliest thing he’s ever heard.

 

“I’ve got you,” he promises, very aware that Mickey is still hanging onto him like a lifeline. He wants to reach back and grab Mickey’s hand, wants to complete the connection between the three of them.

 

He keeps both arms around Mandy, and decides that this is enough for now.

 

 _I’ve got you,_ he tells them both, and hopes they believe him.

 

Outside, it starts to rain.


	2. The Road Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey feels that like a bullet ripping through his chest. He inhales sharply, tries to keep himself steady. “Thanks for coming with me to get Mandy. She needed you here. But when we get back home, you can fuck right off.”

Ian and Mandy curl up together in the backseat. Mickey takes the wheel. When he glances into the rearview mirror, it’s almost like they’ve melded into one person. He thinks he can hear them murmuring quietly to one another, but he can’t make out any of what they’re saying.

 

He still hasn’t said much to Mandy, beyond a strangled, “Let’s get out of here,” back at the house.

 

He’s speechless _._ He’s completely and utterly out of words. He can’t even bear to _look_ at Mandy right now, much less form a coherent sentence. What can he possibly say to this ghost of a girl? There aren’t enough _sorry’s_ in the universe.

 

Mickey wonders if Ian’s struggling with the same thing. Wonders if Ian’s being crushed beneath the weight of his own guilt. His eyes flicker back to the rearview mirror, and his breathing collapses in his chest when he realizes Ian’s staring right back.

 

-

 

Ian likes the weight of Mandy against his chest, likes that even after spending so much time apart, they still fit together like puzzle pieces. He tucks her head beneath his chin, and wraps both arms around her waist. Her skin feels cold.

 

“Why didn’t you call sooner?” he whispers into her hair, dreading her answer even as the words have barely left his lips.

 

Ian feels Mandy’s shoulders move up and down in a gentle shrug. Her words are almost incoherent when she whispers back, “You had enough going on.”

 

Something in Ian snaps at this. Because he knows what it feels like to be the one left behind, to be the _Gallagher_ left behind. He knows what it is to carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders, because you don’t want to burden anyone else with it. He knows all of this, and he doesn’t want any of it for Mandy.

 

“Don’t say that,” he hisses back, almost angrily. His arms around her tighten almost unconsciously. “We’ve got you now,” he says, sure. “We’re not going anywhere.”

 

He meets Mickey’s eyes in the mirror, notes the devastation churning and shattering beneath a sea of blue, and hopes he’s telling the truth.

 

-

 

Mickey pulls through a McDonald’s drive-thru, order on autopilot, and tosses a bag of something into the backseat. It’s no five-star meal, but it’s hot and it’s food, so he figures it’ll do Mandy a little good.

 

 _Shit_ , he thinks a little hysterically. _She’s pregnant. We have to start feedin’ her right._

From somewhere behind him, Mickey hears the telltale sounds of plastic boxes being opened, and teeth tearing and chewing. Ian gives a little sigh.

 

“Thanks, Mick.”

 

Mickey eases the car back onto the road. The greasy smell of chicken nuggets and salty fries sort of makes him want to throw up.

 

-

 

Mandy’s shivering when she asks, “What happened?”

 

Ian tilts his chin down so he can look at her. His heart warms a little at the sight of her familiar blue eyes, the exact same shade as her brother’s. “What do you mean?”

 

Mandy points her eyes at Mickey’s rigid backside. “With you guys.”

 

Ian coughs and looks away. Looks anywhere but at her. The wound, two months old at this point, rips wide open, like Mandy’s taken a knife and hacked at the scar tissue. He hopes Mickey hasn’t heard the question.

 

“I thought you and Mick were untouchable,” Mandy murmurs. She digs her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, and nuzzles in closer. “I thought a lot of stupid things, I guess.”

 

And Ian thinks he gets why she sounds so destroyed by this: Mandy thought she was untouchable, too.

 

-

 

Mickey’s tired of driving. His eyes ache from staring so intently at the road in front of him for so many miles, and his fingers are cramped from being locked around the wheel. He rubs at his eyes with the heel of one hand to keep them open.

 

He parks at the next rest stop he sees, and throws himself out of the car, ignoring confused protests from Ian and his sister. He breaks into a jog until he can’t stand it anymore, and he bends over at the knees and vomits onto the grass.  

 

He hears footsteps behind him, so he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, squeezes loose tears out of his eyes, and straightens. He doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. The air around them is charged with electricity. That only happens for one person.

 

“Don’t say anything,” Mickey warns in a low voice, too exhausted to put any real heat into the words. “Don’t say a fucking thing.”

 

The footsteps continue, growing closer and closer, until Mickey can feel the heat of another person standing inches away from him. Suddenly, there’s a hand at his hip, inching towards his pocket, and Mickey thinks he’s going to catch on fire and die right here, in front of a pile of his own vomit.

 

The hand pulls something out of Mickey’s front pocket, and the contact is severed. Mickey turns around in confusion, tries to work himself up to anger.

 

Ian gazes evenly back, car keys gripped in his fist. His eyes are soft. “I’ll drive.”

 

-

 

Ian makes a strategic stop in the bathroom, pees quickly, and makes his way back to the car. Mickey is already there, looking stoic as ever, and sitting as far from Mandy in the backseat as the space will allow. Ian slides into the driver’s seat, tosses Mandy an encouraging smile over his shoulder, and starts the car.

 

In the cup holder, his phone starts to ring. Ian glances at the screen. The name _Lip_ flashes across the screen like an alarm, and Ian suddenly remembers that he left his house this morning without telling a soul. He ignores the call, and flips the phone over so he can’t see the screen anymore.

 

He’ll deal with his family later.

 

-

 

Mandy’s curled up in a ball, with her elbow propped up against the window, and her face resting in her hands. And she’s watching him. Mickey can feel her eyes all over his skin, studying and evaluating. Seeing straight through him, the way she’s always been able to.

 

“Thank you for coming,” she says to him, and he can hear the sincerity in every word. “Thank you for bringing Ian, too.”

 

She stretches one leg out, and props a foot up in his lap. Mickey pauses, stares at that foot for a full minute. He wraps a shaky hand around her ankle, and keeps it there.

 

“Anytime, Mands.”

 

He thinks he can make out a tiny smile.

 

-

 

The next time Ian’s phone rings, it’s Fiona. With a quiet, annoyed sigh, Ian presses the phone to his ear and huffs out a rough, “What?”

 

He’s stunned her to silence. For a tense minute, there is no response. “Didn’t mean to bother you,” she says, and Ian can hear the anger beneath her words. “Just wonderin’ where the _fuck_ you’ve been?”

 

She’s yelling now, yelling quite loudly, and Ian thinks it’s pretty much inevitable that Mickey and Mandy will overhear this entire conversation from the backseat.

 

“Didn’t realize I needed permission to leave my own house.”

 

“You don’t think you should _tell_ someone when you’re planning on vanishing for hours at a time?” Fiona shoots back, apparently incredulous.

 

Something cold and hard lodges itself in Ian’s throat. He feels wetness pooling in the corners of his eyes. “It never used to matter. Why should it now?”

 

“You know why, Ian.”

 

She doesn’t say _because you fucking stole a fucking baby_ , or _because we can’t trust you won’t pull a Monica and leave for a year_ , or _because you’ve got crazy leaking out of your heart and out of your head_ , but Ian knows it’s what she’s thinking.

 

When he takes too long to answer, Fiona forges on. “You’re with _him_ , aren’t you, Ian? You’re right back to where you started.” There’s hostility in her tone, and something else. Disappointment.

 

Ian tastes bile on his tongue. “No, actually,” he lies with ease.

 

“Where are you then?” he can tell she’s unconvinced.

 

“At the Alibi. Now leave me alone.” He hangs up, tosses his phone onto the passenger seat, and shoves the conversation from his mind.

 

It won’t take Fiona long to figure out that he’s not at the Alibi.

 

-

 

Mickey doesn’t say a word about Ian’s phone call until he hears Mandy’s breathing even out, and knows that she’s asleep.

 

“You ain’t gotta lie for me,” he says gruffly, interrupting the careful silence they’d been existing in for half an hour.

 

Ian snorts. “Not lying _for_ you.”

 

Mickey narrows his eyes. “Just _about_ me, right?”

 

He watches Ian fidget uncomfortably in his seat, hears him heave a long, dramatic sigh. “They worry about me,” he says slowly. “Constantly. About where I am, and where I’m going, and what I’m thinking. They track every last step I take.” He meets Mickey’s eyes through the rearview mirror. “I just wanted to do this one thing by myself.”

 

Mickey wants to understand, wants to be the one to give Ian the thing he needs, but the words spark something mean and angry in him. Mickey clenches both hands into fists. “What? You annoyed because your family gives a shit about you?” He barks out a laugh that’s decidedly unamused. “Sounds fuckin’ rough, man.”

 

The words are in his head without his permission. _Fuck me for giving a shit, you prick._

Ian half-turns now, both eyebrows in his hairline. He returns his attention to the road quickly. “You don’t understand.”

 

The anger surges up Mickey’s throat, and he has to clench his teeth to keep it contained. “Yeah, except that I fucking _tried_ to, and you shut me down.”

 

Ian laughs, long and hysterical, and the sound sends shivers racing up and down Mickey’s spine. “You should be thankful you got out when you did. I’m a natural fucking disaster.”

 

Mickey feels that like a bullet ripping through his chest. He inhales sharply, tries to keep himself steady. “Thanks for coming with me to get Mandy. She needed you here. But when we get back home, you can fuck right off.”

 

He expects Ian to protest, maybe even _hopes_ that he will, but Ian meets his outburst only with silence.

 

-

 

Ian drives the rest of the way without so much as glancing in Mickey’s direction. In return, Mickey focuses all of his attention on his sister, updating her on their scattered family and assuring her that her room is exactly as she left it.

 

“Svet left that crib behind,” Ian hears him tell her, around the freshly lit cigarette in his mouth. “So we don’t have to worry about buying new furniture and shit.”

 

Mandy’s chuckle is quiet and dry, but it’s something. “Babies need more than just a crib, Mick.”

 

“You _are_ keeping it, though, right?”

 

There’s a long, heavy pause. “Yeah,” she says finally. “I am.”

 

“Then we’ll figure the rest out as we go.”

 

-

 

They park on the street in front of the house. Mickey watches Mandy take it all in, the Milkovich house of horrors and all the scar tissue that comes with it, for the first time in almost a year. She’s the first one outside, and Mickey stumbles gracelessly out of the car to follow her.

 

“It looks smaller,” she tells him quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Mickey agrees instantly, because it does. He slings her backpack over his shoulder, and juts his chin at the door. “You ready?”

 

Mandy turns around, to where Ian is leaning his backside against the car door, looking more like a knight in shining fucking armor than anyone has a right to. She reaches out a hand to him, and offers him a genuine smile. “You comin’, Ian?”

 

Ian’s gaze flicker to Mickey, and there’s a question within them. Mickey can’t handle his stupid, pleading eyes. He nods once.

 

Ian’s grin is blinding. It consumes his entire face. He practically skips across the yard to Mandy, and slides his palm into hers with the kind of ease that makes Mickey’s teeth ache dully in his skull.

 

They’ve sort of always been like this, stapled together in this weird threesome that makes a bizarre amount of sense. And some things, Mickey supposes, are never really destined to change.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those lovely humans who encouraged me to keep posting. I hope you approve of how the story is progressing.
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudo if you have a spare second, it would be much appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudo if you think I should continue this work :) 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!


End file.
